Hypersexual German stage set engineer, Lars Krieger, is on a mission in Bangkok, Thailand, but it’s not entirely clear what that mission is or whether it is one of harmony or dissonance.
Through various sexual machinations, he has worked his way into being included in setting up a royal-command Chopin piano concert at the royal summer palace in Hua Hin, Thailand. In the process he has suborned the premier Thai set designer, Amnad, of the royal house, to gain access to other royals, Krit, a concert pianist, and his wife, the soprano soloist, Somsri.
Lars is clearly working all of these people—through sexual manipulation—to some end. There’s more going on here than setting up for a royal-command concert. But what is it? Who and what are Lars’ real targets? And at who’s behest is he operating?
And does even Lars know what is actually going on, and who is really manipulating who?
“Khunchai Amnad and Khunchai Krit are within,” the servant said in a soft voice, as he lowered his eyes and gave Lars a wai, which was a hand palm-to-palm greeting of respect, accompanied by a bowing of the head. Ah, “khun” is good enough for me, but an MR gets to be called “khunchai,” Lars thought. How much of this would he have to learn—and use—for the short time he would be in Thailand?
Also, the lower the bow, Lars had gathered, the greater the respect. The servant was bowing a bit from the waist, so Lars assumed he was being given a great deal of respect—even if he was only a “khun.” The sidelong glance he got from the young man indicated hints of interests of another sort—like maybe the respect was more for Lars’ physique, rugged good looks, and blond curls than for his possible station in life.
Lars was always on the lookout for this look—and took advantage of it when the attraction was there for him, as well. Lars was highly sexed.
Lars knew he looked good and squared away, although he was somewhat uncomfortable in the traditional long-sleeved creamy silk Siamese-style shirt he was wearing over black tux trousers. Amnad had invited him here to consult over an early dinner with Krit Thanawat on a sound shell and backdrops for a concert for the royal family and their summer court in their seaside palace at Hua Hin, the royal enclave on the Bight of Bangkok, to the southwest of the capital.
Lars had quietly been wrangling for an introduction to Krit, and he’d thus been willing to have this formal Thai wear whipped up on short notice. He normally was a shorts and T-shirt sort of man who worked hands-on in primitive conditions—and his muscular physique reflected that—but he was here on a favor owned to someone he couldn’t say no to. Connecting with Krit was key to accomplishing that favor.
As they drew nearer a set of carved wooden doors at the end of the passageway, the quiet floated away on the wings of a lovely, lilting soprano voice, singing in, to Lars’ great surprise, what sounded like Polish.
The music, underscored by an intricate piano accompaniment, grew louder as they entered the house. The servant, swaying his hips provocatively, led Lars down a passageway to the left, opened a door in a blank wall to the left, and step from the opening, looking down to the floor and giving a shy little smile, as Lars passed by him. He brushed by the servant, touching the young man’s bare chest with an arm, as he passed and was both amused and aroused to feel the servant shudder and give a low moan.
Lars found himself in a sound booth facing a wall of glass. Beyond the glass, in a large music room set up as a TV studio and concert room combination, he could see a young, extremely handsome Thai man sitting and playing at an ebony black grand piano, with its lid lifted. The young man was dressed casually in Western style, in black trousers; a billowing white cotton shirt, open half way down his chest; and sandals on bare feet. The piano he was playing sat on a semicircular stage raised a couple of steps above the ground floor, which supported three tiered semicircular rows of substantial, matched dining room chairs curving around the stage. Standing in the curve of the piano was a beautiful young Thai woman, dressed in a creamy-white sarong. She was the one who was supplying the lilting soprano music in the incongruous language. . . .
Amnad Pramoj, a tall, lithe, berry-brown Thai in this late thirties and elegantly dressed in traditional Siamese-style formal wear as Lars was, was standing behind the sound technicians and watching the performance.
Lars entered the room to stand at Amnad’s side as the door gently closed behind him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Amnad whispered without turning, but obviously being aware that Lars was at his side.
“Yes, they are,” Lars answered.
Amnad turned his head toward Lars, raised his eyebrows, and gave Lars a little smile. “I was referring to the music. Chopin’s 16 Polnische Lieder.” The response was tart, but Lars knew where he stood with Amnad and that Amnad was just showing his amusement at the façade Lars was showing. Amnad knew of Lars’ sophisticated knowledge of classical musical—as well as of Lars’ more earthy pursuits and attraction.
